


broken walls

by make_your_user_a_name



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Despair, Episode: s15e18 Despair, Episode: s15e18 Despair - Castiel's Confession Scene, Hurt No Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27480091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/make_your_user_a_name/pseuds/make_your_user_a_name
Summary: Dean always knew he’d go out at the edge of a blade or the barrel of a gun. He hadn’t thought he’d get to choose which one.He was slumped over on the floor in his room. Sam was probably in the library somewhere, and Jack was with him. There was a full bottle of whiskey lying next to him that he’d taken despite Sam’s protests.When it really came down to it, though, he hadn’t been able to drink. It felt like dishonor on Cas’ memory. To numb the pain that Dean deserved to feel totally and completely for the rest of-Well, for however much longer he lived.And he did deserve to feel it. Of course he did. Because he froze. He had stared at Cas, his mind processing his throat dry, words forming in the back of his throat but stopping there. His hands had shook slightly while the rest of him went still.Cas had left, yet again. And Dean still didn’t stop him.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 97





	broken walls

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning !!!!! suicide (depicted), self harm (depicted), child abuse (mentioned)
> 
> thanks @fandomstuff67 (tumblr) for the title

Dean always knew he’d go out at the edge of a blade or the barrel of a gun. He hadn’t thought he’d get to choose which one. 

He was slumped over on the floor in his room. Sam was probably in the library somewhere, and Jack was with him. There was a full bottle of whiskey lying next to him that he’d taken despite Sam’s protests. 

When it really came down to it, though, he hadn’t been able to drink. It felt like dishonor on Cas’ memory. To numb the pain that Dean deserved to feel totally and completely for the rest of-

Well, for however much longer he lived. 

And he did deserve to feel it. Of course he did. Because he froze. He had stared at Cas, his mind processing his throat dry, words forming in the back of his throat but stopping there. His hands had shook slightly while the rest of him went still. 

Cas had left, yet again. And Dean still didn’t stop him. 

It wasn’t just for that, though, that he deserved the pain. It was for the years of wasted opportunities. Years of mistreatment, of taking the angel for granted, of stolen glances that never quite made it to words.

He was a goddamn coward. 

Cas had been wrong. On most levels, he was still just daddy’s blunt instrument. He was the man that John had groomed, had controlled. He was the man that John had caught, when he wasn’t a man at all. When he was just a boy in high school, trying to figure himself out. When he was with another boy his age, all smiles and laughs that turned into screams of fear and pain. He was the man who had been too afraid of his father to fight back, too desperate for his approval to live his own life, too alone in the world to turn anywhere else. 

He deserved to pay for that. 

He didn’t deserve to live on when Cas was gone. 

Dean let his fingers trail down to the floor where his gun and a large silver knife lay discarded. He’d grabbed them from his dresser with shaking hands before collapsing. And now he sat, the voices of his family in his head. 

Jack would say something simple but full of meaning. He would look at Dean with that expression that was so eerily similar to Cas and let Dean speak, choosing instead to listen. 

Sam would say that Cas wouldn’t have wanted this. That Cas had sacrificed himself for Dean, and to leave would be to dishonor that. But Sam didn’t know the whole story. He hadn’t seen Cas’ face light up, hadn’t heard those words, hadn’t seen him disappear into blackness, into nothingness. But Sam would still try to talk him down, desperation growing in his voice as he realized he couldn’t. 

Dad would laugh. Would say he was a weak fag who was getting worked up over nothing. Would say that giving up was the most selfish and cowardly thing Dean could do. And maybe it was selfish. Maybe it proved how much of a coward he was. He was past caring. 

Mom would cry. She’d be tough about it, sure. Probably dredge up some wisdom that would have him pausing for a second, but she would cry in the end. Tears would slide down her face as she looked into Dean’s eyes, pleading even when she knew the pleas fell on deaf ears. 

And Cas… well, Dean knew exactly what Cas would say. 

He choked back a sob as he looked down at the handprint on his shoulder. He had resisted the urge to fit his hand into it. To let himself feel a little bit of Cas, to know that he wasn’t totally gone. Because that would all be a lie. Cas was gone. 

_You’ve changed me, Dean._

Dean felt tears prick behind his eyes again, a hot tear tracking its way down his numb face. 

_I love you._

In a suddenly aggressive move, he reached down for the blade and the gun. He held them, weighing his options, weighing the pain. 

“Gun’s cleaner,” he muttered into the empty room. 

He cleared his throat, running his thumb over the cool metal and fixing his eyes on the trigger. But he already knew, he’d already decided. 

“You don’t deserve cleaner.” 

He set the gun carefully next to him, choosing to ignore how badly his hands were shaking. They hadn’t really stopped since Cas had told him. Since Dean had stood there mutely, the words, _I love you, too,_ ringing around in his head with no way out. 

He rolled up his sleeves and looked down at his bare arms. Then he squinted up at the light above his head. Somehow, it didn’t seem right to have the lights on. Not for this. 

With a grunt, he staggered to his feet and flicked the light switch off. His room now plunged into blackness, he slumped back on the ground, leaning against his bed. 

A voice in the back of his mind told him to change his clothes, to go to the bathroom so Sam’s clean up would be easier. But he didn’t listen to it. That voice was just trying to stall. Was trying to stop him from what needed to be done. 

Cas’ tear-filled eyes swam in his vision as he lifted the metal to his skin. His hands were more steady now, but there was still a slight quiver that made the silver seem to dance and bend before his eyes. So he squeezed them shut, taking a deep breath and letting it out. 

The first cut wasn’t deep. It was the kind he did for spells and sigils, the kind that would heal up immediately if it needed to. He let himself relax for the second cut, let himself welcome the pain that he knew would course through his body. 

That one was deeper. It split open the vein, causing blood to spray from his arm, covering his clothes in red. Dean let a small smile curl at the corners of his mouth. The blood didn’t look like his life. It looked like his prison. And it was leaving. So he could be free. 

He switched the blade to his wounded arm and gripped it tightly, wincing as the tendons moaned under the fractured skin. Then he slowly dug the knife in, this time taking his time. He could feel his skin being torn apart, and with each new drop of blood that appeared along the cut, he saw Cas. 

He saw Cas trapped in a circle of holy fire, trying to explain himself. 

He saw Cas drop the angel blade as he stood over Dean, confusion spreading across his face. 

He saw Cas’ face fall when Dean said he couldn’t stay. 

He saw Cas laying on a bed of straw, a broken and desperate confession on his lips. 

He saw Cas dead at his feet. 

He saw the euphoria on Cas’ face as he was engulfed by black, finally set free from all the burdens he had carried. 

And in it all, Dean saw love. He saw love for Cas, from Cas, surrounding both of them so tightly that they wouldn’t have been able to escape it if they tried. He saw love as his other vein was tapped, the pool of blood in his lap and around him growing. 

He let the knife clatter from his hands and leaned his head back against the bed. 

Everything was fading, his vision growing blurry. He felt impossibly cold, even as his cheeks grew hot. His breaths were coming a little faster, too, each one racking his lungs and shaking his body. 

Then everything started to fade, to narrow, to disappear. 

He would be gone. He would get what he deserved. He would be free from this pain, free from the knowledge that Cas had loved him back and they could have had years. They could have been happy. 

Castiel was in his mind again. But this time it wasn’t the tear-filled love confession. It was just a serene Cas. The one he so often saw. The contemplative look that Dean loved. 

He looked into it, into the peace on Cas’ face, and he let himself slip away. 

*

*

*

It went fuzzy for a while. Then he saw bright lights above his head and let his eyes fall open. He was in a hospital bed, tight bandages clinging to his arms. 

He winced at the light and hoisted himself up a little to look around. 

And he met Sam’s eyes head on. 

He cleared his throat and looked away at the TV in the corner. It was playing a rerun of the _Friends_ series finale. It was playing a reunion he could never have. 

“Where’s Jack?” he asked, eyes not moving. 

“At the bunker.” Sam’s voice was tight, dripping with something Dean couldn’t identify. It was anger, on the surface. But underneath there was panic, fear, confusion, love, pity. It was raw, pure, and not something Dean could face at the moment. 

So he just nodded and kept his eyes on the screen. On the happy ending. 

“We’ll get Cas back, you know.” 

Dean snorted and clenched his fists at his side. They pulled uncomfortably at the bandages and he grit his teeth to stop from saying something. 

“How could you-” Sam started, before taking a shaky breath. “What the hell happened, Dean? What aren’t you telling me?” Sam’s words spilled out over each other like they’d been in his mind for a long time. Not like they’d been rehearsed or planned, but like the thoughts had been rolling around for so long that they made it out of his mouth without the proper words attached to them. 

Dean finally let his eyes fall from the screen and he looked into his brother’s worried face. Not into his eyes, not yet. Just into his open expression. Into the love that was so free of judgement but so full of pain. Sam had lost people, too. Sam had lost Eileen. But Sam wasn’t weak. 

“I didn’t say it back,” he said finally, his voice breaking. 

“Say what back?” 

He just shook his head sadly and looked down at his lap. 

“I can’t do it anymore, Sammy.” He laughed softly, bitterly. “I won’t do it anymore.” And when he spoke again, he looked his little brother straight in the eye and gulped. “I won’t do it without him.” 

Sam’s face fell, still riddled with confusion and hurt, but a fraction of understanding starting to dawn. Dean didn’t care, though. None of it mattered. He should have been free. Should have been gone. Still should be. 

“Next time,” Dean grit his teeth to stop himself from saying it, to stop himself from hurting his little brother. But he couldn’t stop it. “Next time you won’t be able to save me.” 

Sam took a breath and leaned forward, but Dean cut him off. 

“Next time I’ll choose the barrel of a gun instead of the edge of a blade.” 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading loves. how we feeling for thursday????


End file.
